


What Money Cannot Buy

by amurgin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/F, One Shot, Smut, fem slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amurgin/pseuds/amurgin
Summary: Crowe scowled at the mercenary, and Aranea kept on smiling, blood on her spear, but affection on her mind.“Come to play again, Commodore?’ Crowe spat out from atop of a small hill that overlooked the battle zone. Looking up, Aranea smiled brightly, only a fraction of her mocking tone lingering behind.“Things were getting a little quiet, so I thought to myself, ‘Perhaps I should pay my little bird a visit’”.





	

She came out of nowhere. Spear clutched between her thighs, she came crashing through the sky like a meteor. The tip of her weapon struck the ground with such force that the earth cracked, shattering like a glass of wine on the floor. Her cape trailed behind her, riding the gust of wind that lashed violently across the battlefield.

“ _It’s play time, boys_ ” she shouted with a smirk, teasing the glaives who had already been “playing” for quite some time now.

 _Tch_ , Crowe clicked her tongue indignantly. She just had to put on a show, announce herself as if no one knew her. But they all did. They all knew Aranea Highwind.

~ ❤ ~

This was war. Death was very much looming over them, waiting for any chance to swoop in and sweep an unlucky soldier off their feet. It was that fear that sat on the back of their minds, and it was what kept them going. But Aranea Highwind was not your typical soldier by any means. Death was not an option, and war was nothing more than another job. It put food on the table. It kept her going, gave her a reason to wake up in the morning. Today was no different, though something had begun stirring within her long ago.

Aranea Highwind enjoyed fighting. She loved the rush of blood, the adrenaline shooting through her veins like a bullet from a barrel. When she fought, she took flight, and nothing felt more like home than the sky and the feeling of her lance clutched tightly in the palm of the hand. The money was nice, but the fighting was equally stimulating, at least since _she_ had stepped onto the battlefield.

With each victory and fight, her name spread through the land. _The Wrath of the Sky, The Crimson Dragoon, The Rage of Bahamut_ – they called her whatever they feared. Even amongst the King’s glaives, Niflheim’s sworn enemy, she was known and feared. The mere utterance of her name was enough to shake some men to their core. Now, the sound of her spear, _that_ got plenty more out of them. She took advantage of her infamous reputation and sought out any and all who had the guts to stand up to her. There were some, though few, but none really stood out. None but _her_.

Crowe was unlike any other. It started with a desire to find a worthy opponent, but the glaive arose an aching curiosity within Aranea. The way her hair fell against her cheeks, the way she straightened out her back, made herself look taller each time she noticed the mercenary, and most of all, the way she spat out vicious words and stone-cold comebacks. She was irrevocably drawn to her. Something within Aranea pulsated when Crowe was near, and fuck, did she love that feeling.

Still, Crowe was not impervious to the fervour building between them. It made her body feel sticky with sweat and other fluids, made her feel as if she had been cramped up inside a closet. It left her in the darkness, unaware of herself and unable to find her way back out. When Aranea stepped onto the battlefield, she felt herself perk up, and all of a sudden, she could no longer hear the screams or smell the dying. She felt relief. But deep inside she knew that it was not right. Falling for the enemy was, at the very least, grounds for being kicked out of the King’s glaive. So, she fought the thoughts, sometimes even harder than she fought Niflheim, than she fought Aranea with curses and wicked tongues.

~ ❤ ~

Looking onto the battlefield, Crowe found it hypnotic how easily one could lose themselves within the embrace of war. The sun had risen only a few hours ago, hanging above a gruesome scene. It boiled the flesh of the deceased, releasing a stench that twisted and turned the stomach. But they were used to it. Screams and shouts drowned each other out until all that remained was a long, drawn-out cry. It echoed deep inside her chest before falling to her stomach. There, it took root and tugged at her insides. Crowe felt sick, praying that _something_ or _someone_ would fall from the sky and take her far, far away from here. That’s when _she_ came. Amongst the mass of broken bodies, amidst the clashing of blades and the tearing of flesh, they stood before each other. Crowe scowled at the mercenary, and Aranea kept on smiling, blood on her spear, but affection on her mind.

“Come to play again, Commodore?’ Crowe spat out from atop of a small hill that overlooked the battle zone. Looking up, Aranea smiled brightly, only a fraction of her mocking tone lingering behind.

“Things were getting a little quiet, so I thought to myself, ‘Perhaps I should pay my little bird a visit’”. Stepping off her weapon, she cocked an eyebrow before uttering, “Did you miss me, little Crowe?”

She was just so damn irritating.

“What makes you think you’re my type anyway?”

Somehow, someway, that seemed to be just what Aranea expected her to say. She grinned widely, and in the time span of a few breaths, she was gone.

“Am I not?” And the tip of her spear struck the ground once more, her face far too close to Crowe’s for comfort. Yet, she did not use it to attack. Instead, she kicked her leg out, aiming straight for the glaive’s head.

 _Fuck, I let her get to me._ Crowe reprimanded herself as she fell back, quickly shifting into a defensive stance. Her hands at the ready, she was prepared for whatever was coming her way.

“Hey, now. We’re just playing, aren’t we?” Aranea laughed softly, and it was that mocking tone that pissed Crowe off more than Libertus’s incessant lecturing, more than Nyx’s carelessness, more than anything.

“Play with this!” Suddenly, a blazing wall rose between the two of them, and mere moments later, Crowe was ripping through it, dagger in her hand. She took a swing right at Aranea’s face, and to her surprise, it landed. It was only then that she noticed the excitement, the exhilaration brought on by such a small victory.

_Was war supposed to be fun?_

But she had it all wrong. She was caught in a web, and with each move, with each strike, she would only tangle herself further. Aranea took the opportunity to pull her in closely, so close that Crowe could feel her breath on her neck.

“Enjoying yourself, little bird?”

 _Damn it_. Of course it was all a farce. There was no security with Aranea Highwind. You just had no way of knowing.

“Stop calling me that!” Crowe shook her off, or maybe, Aranea let her go.

“Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to take it too far” but she wasn’t sorry. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work”. _Wait, wasn’t this work?_

“Oh no, you aren’t. I’m not letting you go this ti—“ but her words were cut short by a blow to the head.

“Commodore, it’s time to retreat!” the man had struck Crowe down, and he seemed pleased with himself. It irked Aranea. Thank the astrals he wasn’t one of her men.

“I’ll make sure to tell them you fought valiantly”, and with that, she ran her spear through his chest before he could even register her words. “Now then, what am I to do with my wounded little bird?”

~ ❤ ~

When she finally came to, her head was still throbbing. The warmth of the bed called to her, and she wanted to comply and continue slumbering, but the unfamiliarity of the scene around her stirred her mind. She propped herself up slowly, wanting to bite her tongue in an effort to stifle the headache. Before she could take in her surroundings, a familiar voice caught her attention.

“You should rest a little while longer.”

“As if I’d spend another second with you” Crowe muttered more quietly than she had originally intended. She moved slowly, sitting herself on the edge of the bed. Aranea watched her closely.

“There’s no use in being stubborn. It’s just you and I here, and only I know about this place” she resumed her earlier work, cleaning and polishing the armour she had worn not long ago.

“And you think I’d trust you that easily?” Crowe laughed, turning to look at her, “whatever you think is going on between us is nothing more than fighting”.

The dragoon looked up at her, the expression on her face starting to look aggravated. Annoyed. Pissed off. _What exactly did she think was going on between them?_ She got up suddenly, the chair loudly grating against the floor, and walked over to the bed. Bending over, Aranea faced Crowe, her hands pressing against the bedsheets and trapping the other within.

“Lying isn’t your thing, Crowe”. But obstinacy was. So Crowe never broke eye contact, intent on winning at least once, at least this one time. Aranea, too, watched her closely, silently reading her every thought and intention. “If there is nothing more to this than war, then, stop me”, and she leaned in, pressing her forehead to the glaive’s. Crowe breathed in deeply. She heard the bed calling her once more.

“As if there could be anything else”.

“Yet, here you are”.

They kissed, and Crowe did not stop Aranea, because she wanted there to be something more to this. She desperately wanted to fall into her embrace, feel the warmth of a living body against her face, her hands, her skin. Crowe was tired of dead bodies. When Aranea closed her eyes and trusted her to become her accomplice in this crime they were committing, Crowe thought that perhaps, just maybe, it was worth giving it a shot. So, they kissed each other softly.

One of her hands grabbed hold of Crowe’s hip, and after pushing her down gently, Aranea crawled on top. Her fingers snaked beneath her shirt, slipping higher and higher before she dragged her nails down the side of the glaive’s body. With a soft moan, Crowe’s spine arched off the bed, and Aranea reveled in watching Crowe twist beneath her. Leather suited the glaive well, but the dragoon often thought about how nice her body would move without the weight of fabric.

“Little bird…” the words slipped off her tongue, and she grinned because she damn well knew how much Crowe hated being called that, just like she knew that it would rile her up. Crowe swiftly flipped them over, making her way on top to straddle Aranea.

“Just shut up for once”, and she did, because who would keep on talking when they have a fiery glaive rolling her hips against theirs while kissing them fiercely? Still, Aranea couldn’t help but smirk behind the kiss. Her fingers stroked Crowe’s back, nails ever-so-lightly scratching her skin here and there, and each time, the glaive would groan in response.

Pulling back, out of necessity more than want, Crowe looked down on the dragoon, and she felt fucking good. Nothing was quite like ripping the mercenary out of the sky, and putting her in her place – beneath the King’s glaive, beneath Crowe. She was right. There was nothing more to this than fighting, just different types of battles, and Crowe felt like she had won this one.

“Have fun while you can”, Aranea chuckled, “Next time we see each other, you won’t get another chance like this”

“We’ll see about that”.

They both smirked at one another, and then, Aranea sat up, reaching for Crowe. She pulled her shirt off, running her hands up and down her torso as she kissed between her ribs, between her breasts, and along the nape of her neck. Meanwhile, Crowe wrapped her arms around the mercenary’s back and pulled her close. Her knees dug into the mattress, using the leverage to rub her body against Aranea’s. Her head fell back, and she sighed content. She felt at ease. The smell of sweat emanating from the woman beneath her felt strangely real. It was intoxicating, and she savoured it proudly. If only tonight would never end. The battlefield could not possibly miss them.

From then on, words were left unspoken. All they had to say was said in moans, in trailing tongues, and gasps. They kissed each other ravenously, flesh slapping against flesh, and came throughout the night, stopping only to shift positions before starting anew. Spilling into each other, they basked in the afterglow, Crowe’s head on Aranea’s shoulder, passing out shortly after. At the crack of dawn, Aranea had already woken up. She stretched her naked body, sitting up before looking over her shoulder. Crowe was still peacefully asleep.

 _Maybe, there are other things worth waking up for_ , she thought to herself, a smile tugging at her lips, _maybe money can't buy everything._ It did not take her long to get dressed and leave. Aranea Highwind came out of nowhere, and she also disappeared right back into the unknown. She would be long gone by the time Crowe would wake.

~ ❤ ~

Another day, another job. On the days when she was not fighting a war, Aranea would get bored of the various duties that came with the title she bore. She often found herself wishing to return home. Today was one such day.

The door creaked loudly as she opened it, and the thought of finding a better place to call 'home' crossed her mind. Yet, she enjoyed the quiet, solitude of the forest.

“A little late, aren’t we, Commodore?” Aranea grinned. Yes, she enjoyed the quiet, solitude of the forest. And the fact that nobody could hear their late night moans.

“Why now, did you miss me, little bird?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted lesbians, so, here we are.  
> (You're welcome)


End file.
